Pride
by super trooper
Summary: He had a simple life. Just a simple life in New York. But he liked that. It was all his. And he was proud.
1. Prologue

A/N: An extremely long prologue. It's a future fic but different from the other ones I think. It's never going to be as good as "The Freshman Woes" and it goes in a different direction than most future fics but I really like this. Please R&R. Remember, this is only the prologue!

Also, at one point I describe Summer's job as a "Girl Friday" type of job. Does Americans know what that means?

Gotta thank my music muses: "New Slang" by the Shins, "There's always somebody cooler than you" by Ben Folds (_not _Ben Folds Five), "Rocking the Suburbs" by Ben Folds Five, "Sexual Healing" by Ben Harper, "From the sea" by Eskimo Joe, "Better man" by John Butler Trio and finally, "School of Rock" by the School of Rock band. It's amazing how much easier it is to write when you're listening to good songs. I suggest to download every single one! They all rule.

**_Pride_**

Life was life and pride was pride. For him, pride filled his life and he always kept hearing that description of Winnie the Pooh in his head, "_he was a very humble bear". _He hadn't always been _proud_; he almost used to be like Winnie the Pooh.

But Ryan was startlingly influential on him in that factor.

Maybe it was the whole "grow up and get mature" thing. _"It happens in your twenties Seth_," his dad always lectured him.

And it _had_ happened in his twenties. His dad was annoyingly correct.

It slowly begun near the end of college. He could kind of sense it happening, kind of feel it in his bones. He was still the same, he was sure he was. But he was slightly calmer, slightly more sensible, slightly more _proud_.

And it was for that reason he finished college with a journalism degree on his back and not a single cent in his pocket. But he wasn't going to be running to his parents this time.

_"Seth, come back home for awhile! You're only twenty-two, you can't stay in that city all by yourself!"_

_That city_. One of the world's most famous cities reduced to two derogatory words. _That city_. He was sure his mother would understand. But she panicked, like most mothers do, and she _pushed_ for him to return home. She _pushed_.

It didn't last for long. He was pretty sure his dad got to her after awhile. Because he was pretty calm in this whole "situation".

_"He's twenty-two. He can handle it!"_

But even he was pretty shocked when Seth turned down monthly allowances and basic access to money overall. It was the same expression he wore a few years back when Seth announced that he was going to use his trust fund to put him through college.

"I'm not going to spend the rest of my life living off other people. I'm not going to use that trust fund to buy cars and houses and stuff. I'm going to put myself through school with it. I've got to start from scratch."

Because that was what he wanted. Start from scratch. Not just with money. He wanted to move to the East Coast, he wanted to leave the money, he wanted to leave the fakeness of it all and most of all, he wanted to have a damn good time. And that was only possible if he did it on his "own" terms.

Leaving the money was the first sign he supposed. That he was "growing up". "Maturing". Or perhaps it was just the first indication of his pride. He wasn't going to_ take no money from no one_. He said that in a "real homeboy" way in his head and half-pretended he was Ryan.

He knew using a trust fund to attend college wasn't _exactly_ sticking to the man and fending for himself. But it was better than his dad and mother just straight out paying for it, and he knew that if he didn't use it on education, he'd probably blow on Las Vegas hookers again or whatever.

He liked Columbia. No, he _loved _Columbia. It was the start of the _new _Seth, which wasn't much different from the old one, at least not in obvious ways.

He was all alone for awhile. It was always a bit weird for him to make new friends. Ryan won a scholarship to Berkley, much to the absolute rapture of his parents. He always liked Ryan but he didn't always like the "extra attention" he thought he got. But he felt slightly ridiculous when he had those thoughts, like Jan Brady. Yet Ryan's scholarship was the most important topic of conversation for about two years. And that just pissed him off sometimes.

Marissa went to England or something, he lost track of her after awhile. She and Ryan had a disgusting, depressing, melodramatic break up at the end of senior year and reasons to keep in contact with her sort of faded and made less sense.

Summer was a different story. Their break up was slow, painful and quiet. While Ryan and Marissa were screaming about "issues" and dredging up the past about babies and Luke, Summer and him were torturing each other in silence.

It was mutual break up. There were no fights, no cheating on each other, no lies, no past "issues". Just tears in Summer's eyes when she realised she was going to Berkley and he was going to Columbia.

_"Okay…so I'm not being Joey and Dawson here Cohen. I don't really…I don't really think long distance relationships work. We should just end it at the end of this summer instead dragging it on for another six months where we both end up cheating on one another. At least this way we'll still like each other when we break up." _

She said it in that hard biting, straight-to-the-point way of hers. And he knew she was right. He knew he wasn't about to give up his unexpected spot in Columbia for anything. And she loved "Cali" too much. But it was the most painful decision he ever made. And while everyone was focussed on _Ryrissa _and all their dramas, it slightly pissed him off that no one noticed that he and Summer were so depressed, their hearts so broken, they were almost dying.

Ryan sort of sensed something.

_"So how are you and Summer going to handle this long distance thing?"_

_"We're not."_

He said it short, snappy and sweet, something very un-Seth like. And he knew that Ryan got a lot from that.

That was the end. Just a painful, quiet, almost secret-like break up that left him with pain that lived on his shoulders for a year afterwards.

He kept in touch with her for awhile and when they both kind of grew up and grew apart, while he was _maturing_ and developing his _pride_, he kind of got over it.

It was the summer after he graduated. _With a journalism degree on his back and not a single cent in his pocket_. Fourth of July. Wandering around Central Park with his newly appointed room mate. Zeppelin Myers, his ol' political science buddy from Columbia. They had just both moved into an apartment in Hells Kitchen the week before. The place was an utter dump, a tiny two bedroom place with cracks above the doorways. But it was both their first "home away from home" and they were both in love with it. Fourth of July was _their _day, their day to celebrate their new home and their new jobs, Seth working full time in a record store and Zeppelin in a book store. _Not a single cent in his pocket_. It was their new beginnings, his period of _maturing_. Realising his pride.

It was the summer after he graduated, Fourth of July, that he saw her again. She was sitting alone on a swing in Central Park, while Fourth of July picnics surrounded her and kids ran everywhere. He saw her from a mile away but for awhile he pretended he hadn't seen her at all. It was only until they were closer and Zeppelin evilly announced he was going to show that six year old who was doing tricks on the slide something he wouldn't forget, that he went up to her.

"Hi Summer."

He hadn't seen her since freshman year. She still looked the same. A little older, a little smarter, a little more _mature_. But she was still Summer.

"Hi Cohen."

She had moved to the city only the week before. He spent the rest of his day lying on the grass, playing catch up with Summer. Zeppelin got a harassed sounding phone call from his girlfriend, someone who could give Marissa a run for her money and left quite early.

"How cool that he's named after Led Zeppelin. That rocks."

He was a little surprised that Summer had any idea who they were. "His mother was a groupie for them back in the seventies and his dad was just a weirdo fan who followed them around all the time. That's how they met. And that's why he's called Zeppelin."

She got a degree in psychology from Berkley.

"I'm going to be a social worker," she told him proudly.

Summer had matured too. "That thing you did with your trust fund, that scared me. I thought you wasting _all_ that _money_. Then I thought about it a lot in my freshman year and I got scared that I was more scared about _money_ than anything else. I was sick of being a Newport girl," she whispered to him just a little sadly.

Summer was like him. She was "finding herself" in her twenties, in college, just like him. Just like his dad said he would.

"And a lot changed. And I've changed. I think. I'm not as shallow; I don't care about money any more really. I suppose you can tell by my need to be a social worker. I doubt I'll get any money out of that."

It was a nice change. A refreshing change. She was still _Summer_. She still could bitch just as good as the rest of them and she still liked to have nice hair and nice clothes and own nice things. It was just that her definitions of what nice clothes and nice things were changed a little, that's all.

She had turned a little punk in outfits, it was quite cute. She followed no one's fashion, just a mixture of punk, and her girly expensive things, and stuff she found in markets. For the first time, Summer was really _independent _and she didn't rely on anyone, not for their opinions, money, time or fashion advice.

"I'm doing a Seth," she laughed. "I only keep the money that I make myself."

"We're the Newport rebels, the outcasts," he laughed back. "We'll go back home for a visit, and they'll be like _ohhh_ lordy, what happened to these two?"

She had gotten a tiny, part-time job working in the Queens social works department as a Girl Friday. And she was loving it. She loved it almost as much as she loved her tiny, one-bedroom apartment in Queens.

"It's sooooo ugly. I can't get over it. But I love it! I think it's that satisfaction knowing you're doing this _all_ on your own."

She had obviously found her pride like him too.

From that one day in Central Park began the beginning of a new friendship and a new relationship. He only lasted two weeks of hanging out with her "as a friend" before he broke down while they were watching _Simpsons_ repeats and begged for her to go out with him again. She responded with a kiss on his cheeks and the following week he took her to a free concert in Central Park and she told him she had never stopped loving him, really. And he said the same.

It was a crazy, fantastic, wild year, that first year of living in his own apartment and being Summer's boyfriend again. She moved in with him after six months, one week before Christmas, much to the delight of Zeppelin who was successfully trying to get her to turn into a rock chick. They all went to a Shins concert and Zeppelin and Summer dragged him to a Foo Fighters concert, who he was secretly starting to like.

They went home for Chrismukkah/Christmas and it was the first Christmas that everyone was actually all there. And by everyone, he meant _everyone_. Ryan and his girlfriend Melissa, Julie, Caleb, The Nana, Marissa, and he even ran into Luke at one point.

Ryan was the same; he was probably always going to be the same. There were slight differences. The years in Newport made him _slightly_ more talkative and much more comfortable in upper-class situations. But he was always just going to be Ryan. And that was a good thing. He had a job with Caleb at the moment, putting his architect's degree to good use. It was only a temporary thing, he said, because he wasn't going to use Caleb like that. But Seth could tell that while his pride had gotten stronger, Ryan's had weakened just that little bit more.

His girlfriend Melissa was a bouncy blonde little thing who was still in her junior year, studying how to become a marine biologist. She was chirpy and sweet and smart and an animal lover and seemed a strange match for Ryan. But he could tell Ryan had a thing for her in a _massive _way. She almost reminded him of Anna.

Marissa was still living in England, apparently becoming a fashion designer. She arrived late on Christmas Eve, with big Jackie O styled sunglasses and a designer haircut. She was happier from the last time he had seen her but they both realised they had even less in common than either of them believed.

At the sight of Summer, who was sitting next quietly to Seth while he, Ryan and Melissa were playing poker in the pool-house, she almost squealed and ran over to her. She then promptly pulled Summer up and announced,

"We're going to the bathroom."

They disappeared for twenty minutes and when they returned, Marissa went outside and lit up a cigarette, her face pensive.

"What were you guys doing in there all that time?" Ryan laughed.

"Oh, we were just playing catch up. I haven't seen her since we graduated from high school, really."

Summer was being quiet and almost shy. Ryan dropped the questions and Melissa went to introduce herself to Marissa, curiosity almost killing her.

Summer rolled her eyes and took a swig from Ryan's beer. "So, Chino. Marissa, Melissa. Don't those names just confuse you?"

He scowled at her and stalked outside to make sure Marissa didn't kill Melissa.

Summer turned to Seth with the same expression she wore when he told that she wasn't rude to him, she just didn't speak to him; way back in their junior year of high school.

"I'm really happy with our life in New York Cohen," she whispered.

"So am I." He kissed her hand.

"It's just that…" She stopped. "Am I a horrible friend for not being really close to Marissa?"

"Only people in movies stay close with their high school friends."

She laughed a little.

"I guess we just don't have that much in common anymore. I guess I changed more than I realised."

Chrismukkah came and went and they were secretly glad as hell to return to home. _Home_. Because Newport wasn't home anymore. New York was.

Time passed, as time does. Two years of relationship full, Zeppelin died in a stabbing in Central Park. He was cutting through the park at night to rush home so he wouldn't miss the Yankee's game on television.

Summer took it hard. She was being the emotional Summer, the loud, crying, yelling girl and she sobbed her whole way through his very Catholic funeral. He took it harder but he barely registered it, didn't cry, didn't yell, just felt all the pain in private.

Their relationship became crazy around that time. They were celebrating their twenty-fourth birthdays and Summer was still a Girl Friday and he had only _just _gotten a job in a newspaper, but all he did was photocopy stuff and get the lunches and coffee. She was frustrated, depressed by Zeppelin's death and was constantly yelling that she expected that she would be _more _at this age. "Not just some pathetic starving twenty-four year old," she screamed.

They had a lot of fights, because she was feeling _so_ much emotion and he wasn't feeling anything at all. Or he was, but he didn't say a thing.

They had a horrible, disgusting screaming fight on November 13th, and she kicked him out. It was just a disgusting fight. They were both screaming about everything, how they had no money, how she wanted _more_ and how he was accusing her that maybe she really was just a Newport girl underneath it all. She screamed that he was just a feeling-less zombie, that he was like Ryan but worse. The neighbours below them slammed on their ceiling and yelled at them in Spanish. He stormed out in anger and she told him never to come back and for that whole day, that November 13th, he walked around the entire city. He spent the day wandering around Manhattan and looking at all the _Sex and the City _look-alikes and just feeling _so much_ contempt for Summer.

Around six pm, when he was sitting in a McDonalds and feeling calmer, he realised that he didn't want to loose Summer over something like this. And when he walked past a jewellery shop, things just started to make more sense.

He went back home, where Summer was lying on the couch and crying to a Death Cab song. She had been crying a lot lately, ever since Zeppelin died. It was as if his death just brought everything to the surface, as if it made everything just boil over and spill all over the floor.

He sat down next to her in silence and hung his head into his hands. She sat up and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Summer," he began and his voice cracked. "Summer, we've been going out for two years or nearly four, depending which way you look at it. And the way I talked to you today and the way you talked to me…Neither of us deserve that. We should have more respect for each other, at least."

She nodded.

"And I've been walking around all day and feeling almost…almost _hate_ for you, I was so angry. Then I realised something. You're the only thing who makes me feel like that. I mean, I'm not a hateful person in general. And that's always kind of bothered me, that I can almost hate you sometimes after our fights. But for this past month or so…I haven't felt a thing. I just felt dead."

"I know."

He sighed. "Zeppelin was my best friend," he whispered.

And he _was_. Ryan was, he always was but it was different. Zeppelin had been his roommates in college, his roommate in his new apartment, part of his new beginning, part of his new life. And now he was gone.

"And it killed me. It was killing me even up to this morning. It wasn't only after till we had our fight and I was walking around Manhattan just so _angry_ and so _pissed off_, that I realised that I was feeling something for the first time in ages. And you're the only one who can make me feel. You make me feel."

She made her "Ohh, Cohen" face and her eyes became slightly wet at the corners.

He took her hands, still hanging his head. It was corny, it was corny, it was corny, he kept repeating in his head. It _was_ but she was _Summer_ and she melted him like butter. And sometimes they were ridiculously corny when they weren't in public.

"And I stopped outside this jewellery store and I saw all these rings and…"

She gasped quietly.

"And…I don't know if I can afford an engagement ring at the moment, but that doesn't matter, because I'm _still asking you_." He said that last part almost to himself.

He turned to her.

"So I don't have a ring and I don't have…I mean I can't offer you security and a predicted good future and I _still_ can't believe I'm your type but Summer, I have to ask. Please baby, please marry me. You're the only person left who can still remind me I'm still alive. You make me feel," he repeated.

It was raining outside and Death Cab was on the stereo and she _hated_ them but she also kind of didn't. Really old Martha Stewart repeats were on the television and she _definitely_ hated that and their apartment was old and faded and cracked and tiny and she didn't have an engagement ring and Seth wasn't doing the old fashioned thing and getting on one knee. He was just clutching her hand and hanging his head, saying oh so corny things and looking very scared.

And it was insanely all wrong and nothing was how she ever dreamed it.

But it was very Seth Cohen-ish. It was very…perfect in a stupid way.

She lifted his head with a slight push under his chin.

"Okay," she whispered.

They liked the pace of their marriage. It probably seemed to fast too some, marriage proposal in November, wedding in February but it was alright for them. They had a tiny ceremony in the Plaza, at Kirsten's instance. They were planning to go to Las Vegas. That had horrified Kirsten and Summer's father. The change in venues quickly changed Kirsten's opinion but Summer's father stayed unhappy.

It was the biggest of flashbacks in a way. Summer walking herself down the aisle, just as Kirsten had done. Seth was barely a good enough husband when he had money and now he was just a coffee kid for a newspaper.

It was the end of contact with Summer's father and Summer for a long time.

After six months of marriage, Summer got a promotion and she became the assistance to the child psychologist in the social works department in Queens. Another six months followed and Seth became the obituary writer for the paper. It was a small job, "but a stepping stone!" he cried to Summer excitedly and it was all changing from here.

It _had _changed. It was _still _changing. Throughout that year of their first year as husband and wife, they both got promotions, they moved to a four bedroom house in Queens that they would be paying the mortgage off for the rest of their life _and_ they had their first child.

"Baby Cohen."

It was what everyone called her for weeks after she was born. On November 13th. Nine months after their wedding and _exactly a year after their proposal_. A tiny, dark-haired girl called Manhattan.

"Our love is in New York," Seth sang to her the day after she was born, "and we _love _you."

Manhattan smiled, five minutes after she had been born. She didn't cry when she came out, she just looked at everyone and smiled. They said babies couldn't smile that young _but she did_. She had dark straight hair like her mother and her father's smile.

"Twenty-five, married, got a kid and poor," Summer muttered to him sarcastically on November 15th. "Always my dream."

But she was only kidding. Because she was _happy_ and so was he. And they knew it.

Their first Chrismukkah spent as a proper family meant banging their heater to get warm, Seth trying to explain the story of Chrismukkah to a one month old baby; just nothing special, when they thought about Newport Christmases and Chrismukkahs.

"I can't believe I'm living my father's life," he whispered to her on Christmas Eve.

"What?"

"Living in New York, being poor, watching my wife walk herself down the aisle."

Life was just that. Over the years Summer became the head child psychologist in the social works department, although her pay check barely changed. Seth became the "events" writer of the paper. He spent his weeks writing "filler" pieces on a book shop's tenth anniversary or something equally uninteresting. He hated it and barely got any money but he loved being a writer. He was going to start his novel, one day. _One day_.

And he _was _living his father's life. He was living in New York but he _loved _New York. And he _was _poor but at least he was working and working hard.

At thirty-four, nine years had passed and a lot had changed and a lot had stayed the same.

Manhattan was eight, turning nine in November. For now, it was the day before summer holidays and she was still eight, still had her mother's sleek hair, still had her father's smile. She was the quiet one of the family, the shy one and everyone joked that perhaps there had been a switch in the hospital.

Zeppelin and Halle were definitely children of Seth and Summer. Twin seven year olds, Halle had beautiful curly hair like her father and Zeppelin just had a mess. They were loud and crazy and talked way too much and fought _a lot_. They liked to laugh and Zeppelin was into seventies' rock music and had a slight fascination with his namesake, not the band but Seth's old roommate. He made instant friends with Zeppelin's younger sister, an eighteen year old with several piercings and tattoos, who was still slightly screwed up since her brother's death of ten years ago.

At last was little seven month old James, or Jimmy, or Jim, or Jimsta, or Jamey or whatever Seth felt like calling him on a particular morning. He had his father's hair and his father's eyes and seemed to have the same humour as him and Seth just loved him.

They all lived in their tiny house in Queens, with two small storeys and four small bedrooms and _one_ bathroom. They were known as the "Cohen Clan" around their neighbourhood.

They led a simple life, he knew it. But it was a simple life that he was _proud_ of. Because it was _all his_.

It was just his life. _And he was proud_.

Because somewhere along the years, he developed his pride.


	2. One

A/N: Second part up! Thanks for the all the great reviews guys, I'm surprised how many people liked it! Keep reviewing!

Ah, this chapter's bugging me a bit but...I'll post it anyway!

_Chapter One_

Summer was a rock chick. It was Zeppelin's leaving mark after his death, a bit of his personality tattooed onto hers. She liked to scream along with old Foo Fighters songs, dance to The Darkness and depress herself with Nirvana.

Friday mornings were her mornings to listen to music. It was a stupid thing they did, a stupid thing they always did. It was in the same vain of kids who had "turns" for riding in the front seat of the car. On Monday mornings, when they hustled and bustled around getting ready for school and work, it was Seth's turn. Monday for her was brushing her teeth along with some old Death Cab for Cutie songs. Tuesday was Manhattan's day. She liked old Beatles songs, eighties rap like the Beastie Boys and was in love with the "hottest" underground punk band at the moment, Dead Beat Holiday. Her taste in music was strangely eclectic and could be heard singing Iggy Pop and Elvis in the same breath.

Halle liked the "heavy stuff". It was what she always called it and although people usually thought she meant heavy metal, she was "_talking 'bout rap"_. She would serenade her father with The Hilltop Hoods on Wednesday mornings, while he clumsily tried to brush her hair and threatened to kill her. "Oh, my ears, they bleed," he always melodramatically cried.

Thursdays was Zeppelin's day. They ate breakfast while Led Zeppelin sang _That's the Way_ and his home-made mixed cd of seventies rock was played so much, it broke in half.

And Fridays was Summer's, which explained why Summer ate toast with Manhattan while The Vines swirled around them.

"Mom," Manhattan picked at her toast distractedly. "I know this is your morning for music or whatever…"

Her voice trailed off. Summer raised one eyebrow.

"But, come on! Play some new stuff! The Vines are like, from fifteen years ago."

"I think it's more twenty," Summer calmly replied. "Beside, _every_ person plays old music in this house beside you."

Manhattan laughed. "Yeah, Dad does but he's allowed. That's what dads do. They play old, boring music that no one cares about. You're _way_ cooler than Dad."

Summer nodded. Oh, she was _way_ cooler than Cohen.

"And Zeppelin does, but he's kinda allowed to. I mean, you give him a retro name Mom, what do you expect? And his stuff are _classics_. I admit I play a lot of old stuff sometimes, but they are _classics_. The Vines are _not_ classics."

"Oh! Who are you to judge? You're an eight year old."

"With _tonnes_ of musical knowledge. Let's face it Mom, we are the coolest, rockiest kids on the block. We know our music. And I turn nine like in five months."

"What about Halle? Her favourite band is some rap group from Australia from the early 2000s who's no one heard of! I don't hear you telling _her_ to change her taste."

They stared at each other haughtily for a few moments. Manhattan was impossibly like Seth but he always said she was impossibly like Summer. She was neither really, just a quieter version of both of them who sometimes broke out into speech.

It was Friday morning, the last day of the school for the kids before summer. Manhattan and her sat quietly at the table. Upstairs, she could hear Halle and Zeppelin sing along to Craig Nichols. _See, I do have good taste_, she told herself. James sat beside her in his high chair and burbled happily. Seth was singing in the shower.

This was her life now. At thirty-four, she was married, had four kids, was still paying the mortgage off the house and didn't even own a car. She wondered what she had written down in her old diaries when she was a senior in high school, plotting her dreams and her life paths. Probably not this.

But she was happy.

She supposed.

The way Seth described it was closer to the truth.

_'I'm not unhappy but I'm not happy either."_

He said it five nights ago. It was a perfect setting, she supposed. Swinging on their hammock on their front porch, the summer heat making their skin glow; she wore a floral cotton dress, and she felt as if she belonged in _To Kill a Mockingbird _or something.

He draped his arms around her and breathed in her scent of clean soap and baby powder. She always smelt like baby powder these days, what with Baby James and all.

It felt as if _Caffeine in the Morning Sun_ by The Sleepy Jacksons should have been playing.

_"Mmm, sometimes I love my life." He kissed her skin. "Lying on my hammock with my wife, the sun setting, the warm air, watching our kids play baseball, the sounds of New York city…it's a cliché…it's such a simple life…I love it."_

_She sighed._

_"Are you happy?"_

_He brushed the hair out of her face._

_"I'm not unhappy but I'm not happy either."_

Manhattan climbed in her lap. She buried her face into Summer's hair.

"I'm sorry Mommy," she whispered.

Manhattan was the spitting image of her, with straight, dark brown hair and dusky eyes. The only visible feature of her father was his smile and his height.

Summer picked up Manhattan's left arm distractedly and habitually ran her thumbs up and down the scars. They snaked up Manhattan's arm, from her wrist and up past her elbows, like train tracks telling a story about her past. She got them when she was six years old and fell through a glass window. Manhattan's skin was dark and olive, but the scars were pale and fleshy, and Manhattan hated them.

Life was just that. Seth and Summer dropped their kids off at school, a public Protestant one where only ten percent of the children were actually Protestant (it _was_ Queens, after all) and everybody ran around in a grey and red uniform. Baby James was dropped off at a neighbour who did free day care for the entire neighbourhood, then Seth kissed her goodbye at the subway station.

"Have a good one Sum," He told her.

She hated the subway. She hated every single thing about it. She hated the people who caught it, she hated the smell, she hated how she never got a seat. And she _hated_ not having a car.

She knew Seth hated it more. Every morning he would go off to the city wearing a business suit and riding a push bike. He hated that bike. He would come home and slam it down on the floor and stalk off to the bedroom. The tyres were always going flat, the fifth and fourth gears didn't work and it had a bright pink Barbie sticker on it that Halle stuck on years ago. He would spend several nights a week sitting on their front porch, rocking in their hammock and trying to peel that sticker off. Yet through rain, hail or shine it would sit proudly for everyone to see.

Ryan offered to buy them a car once.

_"It will be just so much easier for you guys. You guys are late enough without a car."_

But Seth muttered to himself something about pride and handouts and went and sat down and watched the Superbowl.

Ryan turned expectedly to Summer.

She forced a smile.

"Thanks, but I think we'll survive. It's New York. We don't need a car."

But they did. They _were_ always running late. They were _that_ family, that family whose clothes always look wrinkled and their hair always messy and they were _always_ late.

Ryan always wanted to give "stuff" to people. Especially to the Cohens. His job as an architect and owning his own practice which had branches in New York, Chicago and LA meant a pretty sturdy paycheque. And he was always trying to "make up" for all the things the Cohens paid for him.

Instinct told her that something was happening to her and Seth. It was the same instinct that told her that she loved _Blood on the Microphone_ by Gerling the second she heard the first seconds of the beat. That instinct was never wrong. It wasn't as if they fought all the time, because they didn't. And it wasn't as if one of them was cheating on each other, because they weren't.

Seth turning down the offer of a car made her instinct bite. Saying he wasn't unhappy but not happy either was another thing. Seth's utter dislike for the bike was something else too.

Maybe they _were_ unhappy. She thought that a lot sometimes. They had come a long way from the struggling twenty-something year olds. Or they hadn't, really. They had come all this way and they were basically in the same place they started from.

Hours passing was just time passing and time was the biggest façade in history. Work always seemed to end just as it was starting and she was always slightly amazed when she wound back up at home.

There were many traditions in their house, the Cohens' one for traditions and rituals. Last day of school of the year meant a barbeque, meant sitting up all night playing games, watching television, meant the kids going psycho on sugar and soda.

"Favourite night of the year," Manhattan said shyly to her mother, while they lounged on their hammock on their front porch and tried to stay cool.

"It's _so_ hot," she moaned.

It _was_ hot. The nights were hotter than the day, for reasons that escaped her and for the past week, summer teased them by making their hair stick, their forwards shine and the night intolerable.

It was her favourite night of the year too, after Fourth of July. Her unofficial anniversary with Seth.

"I'm so excited," sang Zeppelin, dancing around on their front porch, "because I can stay up and watch Late Night with Will Black."

"Ugh, I miss Conan O'Brien," Seth moaned, and sat down between his two favourite girls on the hammock. "I hate this Will Black."

It always ended with the kids watching The Late Show. It always began with a family softball game. And somewhere in the middle, there was always a dance.

At some point, usually around nine pm, the kids were all miraculously out of the house. Usually around that time they visited the De Palmers next door, devout Catholics with seven kids.

"I do love an empty house," Seth said softly to her.

It was his turn to pick a song. Another unofficial Cohen tradition. _Gotta__ have a dance in the kitchen baby, gotta dance the night away_. He said to her one year, drunk off his arse and it stuck with her ever since. It was corny and stupid but that pretty okay, sometimes.

Sounds of Ben Harper singing _Sexual Healing_ live at a concert filled their tiny home.

"You're so cheesy Cohen," she laughed, standing in their kitchen, clutching her beer.

"Haven't you said that before?" He asked.

She thought she had. She couldn't quite remember. She had the feeling she had said it a million life times ago.

Dancing with Seth was pretty okay too. They almost always just swayed along, holding each other closer and having small, private conservations. It wasn't anything amazing or even anything special. Just another Cohen tradition. Probably didn't look like anything at all, to most people. But it was theirs.

They sat down on the couch and she sighed.

"What's up with us Seth?"

He didn't answer for awhile.

"I miss Zeppelin," he finally said.

"Our…our son?"

"No, dead Zeppelin," he stated bluntly. He picked at something on his hand. "I swear I saw him the other day. My heart like jumped into my throat. It's stupid I guess. I only really knew him for five years. I still shouldn't miss him."

She took a swig from her beer.

"Well, you've still got me Seth."

He sighed. "I sure do."

She fingered her wedding ring, twisting and turning it.

"Seth, what is _up with us_? I'm getting worried, I someti-"

Halle burst through the front door.

"Daddy, daddy, Michael next door says I have a 'fro. What the hell is that?"

He tussled up her curls.

So this was my life, Summer thought while she was curled up in bed, her clock flashing 12:03 am. Beside her, Seth was snoring lightly.

It felt like she had just noticed her life for the first time. And all she seemed to be doing was thinking about the past.

"I wanna be twenty-two again" she muttered to herself.

She wanted to be, she wanted to be, she wanted to _be_…

She wanted to be happy. It was sinking in that maybe she wasn't.


	3. Two

A/N: Ohh, my plot line starting to show in this chapter…And I've discovered it's A LOT more easier writing from Seth's perspective than it is Summer's, although I think I'm going to do both…Review as always (and guys, you guys are the best bloody reviewers out there, I love you!)

Gotta thank my music muse again! This time, _The Joke_ by Steve Miller Band. Download it, you won't regret it! Best sing along song out there, if that's a way to describe it…

_Chapter Two_

Smell was the most common of memory triggers, so he heard.

For him, it was music. Music. The beat running through his veins, the radio inside his head, his ever-lasting god that he calls his Jesus, if he believed in such a person.

His god. Music was his god, and god, it was a god that kept on giving.

Manhattan's favourite radio station was blasting through their house, while he laid on their couch and kept realising how much he _loved_ warm, summer Sunday afternoons.

_The Joker _by the Steve Miller Band floated through the air, which amazed him because that song was old when _he_ was a kid, and Manhattan's radio station didn't play anything but the new, underground punk bands.

His dad loved this song. He used to play it every Friday night when they lived in Berkley, snapping his fingers and making his mom laugh.

"People keep talking about me baby," he sang to Summer, while she sipped at a beer and sat at the kitchen table behind him.

She rolled her eyes.

"Saying I'm doing you wrong," he kept singing.

"Stop it."

He swayed to the beat, singing cheesily.

"You're the cutest thing that I ever did see. I really love your peaches; want to shake your tree." He paused and stopped singing. "My favourite lyrics _ever_."

She started to laugh. He got up and sat down next to her, taking a swig from her beer.

"That's my dad's all favourite time song. I think _that's_ when I should have realised he was stoner."

"_That's _your dad's favourite song? Isn't it like, from the seventies or something?"

He patted her hand. "Sometimes, I think you have come so far in music and then…you just disappoint me."

She rolled her eyes again.

"Your dad actually called yesterday."

"Oh yeah? When?"

"When you were at the Laundromat with Hattie."

He nodded and picked at his fingers.

"He said something interesting…actually."

He had that same dream again last night. He was stuck in the past; being ten years old and watching girls walk past in patented Spice Girls platform shoes. Then his mother would come pick him up in a Chitty Chitty Bang Bang car and they would just fly, fly away.

He hated that dream. It caused him to have a sick feeling in his stomach, made him wake up with a headache. He had been having that same dream since he was fifteen.

Summer was looking at him tiredly.

"He said…he said maybe that it's time for a change Seth."

"He said that?"

She nodded.

Summer had become ridiculously close with his parents. He supposed it was because of the whole "disowning" thing that Summer's dad did when she married him. It privately annoyed him. It wasn't that he didn't want _Summer_ to be close with his parents; it was that he didn't want _anyone _from his little "Cohen Clan" to be close with them. He had unofficially drawn a line between his Newport family and his Queens family and he unofficially didn't want anyone to cross it.

It was a territorial thing, he told himself. He made his own little life on the East Coast and he didn't want "no fangled-dangled Westies to come tread all over it", in Michael's words, a friend from work.

Summer told him that it was a "shame" thing. He was "ashamed" of his Queens family; that he didn't want "no fangled-dangled Westies to come judge it". That time it was Summer's words, in love with Michael's description of West Coast people.

He knew he was being _stupid_. _Idiotic.__ Stupid._ Because he knew his parents would never do any of that, despite the fact that they were "bloody Westies", as termed by Zeppelin.

His guilt in his head told him that it was because he didn't want his children to ever really know how much money he could have, how much better their life _could be_.

Because ol' Seth Cohen, oh no, he liked to _think_ that he was a _changed man_, but baby, he still classified "succuss" by how much money you made.

He knew Summer did. He knew that was why Summer was _not unhappy but not happy either_. And why he was too. He had money, but only a little and he was _a goddamn man in the goddamn twenty-first century_. And goddamn men in the goddamn twenty-first century always wanted more.

He hadn't minded at first. Money was a lost cause, a dead subject that _didn't bother him,_ not one single bit. But then _his_ family was formed and his family forced him to revert back to his old, bad habits. He only wanted the best for his little Cohens, only wanted his Cohen Clan to be happy.

Summer sighed at him.

"You love your dad Seth," she reminded him.

"I know."

He loved his dad. He only got a bit edgy when it came to _his_ family. Because his dad was always _Sandy_, always giving advice, that it got to him _sometimes_.

Summer was the calm one out of them, now.

"And he said…" Summer stopped when Manhattan skipped into the room.

"Heard you singing to that song before Dad, you were _fan-bloody-tastic_." She giggled.

"I thought you were supposed to be the polite, quiet one," he shot back. "Obviously, I was wrong."

"Not the first time," she laughed.

"Oh, oh," he grasped his chest and opened his mouth in a mock, hurt way. "Hattie, my Hattie, you kill me."

Manhattan laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm going next door, 'kay Mommy?"

Summer nodded.

"Bye _Hattie_," he eyed her evilly.

"Bye _Daddy_," she mirrored his image.

Summer waited till the house was silent again.

"Where's everyone else?" He stalled.

"Zepp's next door. James' napping. Halle's at the pool with Zack."

"I don't like Zack. He's too rude for a seven year old."

"I know," Summer said patiently.

"I don't want him hanging around with Halle."

"I know."

He squinted at her for a second and paused. "I'm my mother. And you're my father."

She laughed. "Seth…"

"I know, we were talking 'bout something important right?"

She nodded.

"So your dad said…he _suggested_...that maybe we can go back to Newport for awhile."

He stared at her. It wasn't the first time that suggestion had come up. Ryan offered, years ago. Staring at his feet, hanging his hair in his face, looked like he was about to say _shucks _or something. _So this house I bought in __Newport__, it's pretty…pretty big. And I've got lots of room, it's just me. So maybe you guys can…it can sorta become your poolhouse._

And his mother tried to get him to move every time Chrismukkah came around. _Seth, come back home! I miss my baby. And I don't see enough of my grandkids._

But it was never an option. Summer laughed right in Ryan's face when he first said it. She was too much of an East Coast girl by then, too imbedded in the music scene, the fashion, the thick New York accents and running into Saturday Night Live cast members at the supermarket. That was back when Zeppelin and Halle were just two and things were _allllllllllllllllll-right._

Kirsten's insistence on the phone every Chrismukkah was just a constant, like discussing the weather.

It was never an option, expect for one moment in his past which he didn't want to relive.

But Summer's face was telling a different story.

"Summer, we've been over this before. We can't afford the real estate or even the standard of living."

"I know," she whispered.

He glanced at his feet then met her eyes. "But…" he sighed.

"But, Ryan's, Ryan's repeated his offer. And we don't have to" she hurried at the expression on his face, "we don't have to stay there for long, just till we find our own place. Or we could stay at your parents. And your dad got me…"

She paused and looked mortified.

"What?"

"Your dad got me a job offer at the hospital there for being head of the child psychology department."

He eyed her. "Oh he _did_, did he? For exactly how long have you known this?"

"Well…your father mentioned something ages ago, _months_ ago and we joked that I should send my resume and everything. And your father _did_ and I had _no _idea. I had _no _idea," she repeated, seeing his expression. "Then, a month ago, a representative from St Vincent's came and saw me and we had an interview and I heard nothing about it."

"Until…"

"Until yesterday. They called. I think your dad and your mom's father and even _my father_, I think they all helped convinced them."

"Convinced who what?"

"Convinced St Vincent's I was right for the job. And even though I've always said it's an area of the job that I would _hate_, you know, I would just be organising _stuff_ and not getting in the _thick of things_; like I do here at the social works department…I don't know."

He sighed. He felt he was getting beaten.

"Am I supposed to just give up my job then?"

"Well, you were talking about quitting anyway! You said you were "gonna quit my job and start writing the novel of the century!" She yelled, mocking him.

"I've been saying that _for years_. I've been saying that since I was _sixteen_."

"So we're gonna stay here because you're going to pretend that you actually _like_ your shitty job?"

She slammed down her beer and got up and paced around the kitchen. He stood up, tall and imposing.

"I didn't know we wanted to leave. I thought you were _happy_."

She glared at him.

"Don't give me that crap! What did you say to me, like a week ago? _I'm not happy but not unhappy either_. Well, guess what _Co-hen_," she spat, "I'm _unhappy_. And I think you're kidding yourself if you think you're not."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Manhattan slip through the front door. Her large, dusky eyes that looked exactly like his stared at him.

"Daddy? Mommy? Are…are we okay?" She whispered.

_Are we okay? _He felt his heart breaking. Are _we_, are _we_, are _we_…every Cohen in his house was connected. Manhattan was smart. She saw the demise of their family with the demise of Seth and Summer.

Summer went over and picked her up and kissed her on the cheek.

"Daddy's just going to go pick up Halle from the pool. Why don't you help me start dinner?"

Manhattan's eyes haunted him throughout his walk down to the public pool. He quietly walked Halle and Zack back, while they ran around in front of him and had cute, seven-year old conversations which, if they were older, would probably be called flirting.

Zeppelin and Halle spent the dinner entertaining them with gossip about the De Palmers next door, Zeppelin waving his chicken wings around while he imitated David De Palmer, the eldest who was in the army. Halle and James were squealing, Summer was eating quietly and Manhattan just looked at him, in a way that she probably thought was secretive.

It was Sunday movie night. _Another _Cohen tradition. It was his turn for movie night and he had his selection _all laid out_. A little bit of _This is Spinal Tap_, a little bit of _Rushmore_ and just a touch of _Wayne's World,_ because sometimes, he liked to be a bit silly and he knew his kids loved_ Wayne's World_.

Summer sat curled up next to him on the couch, because, that was what they always did. But her body felt tense and she wouldn't meet his eyes.

Halfway through _Spinal Tap_, he decided something.

_"_Okay, my Cohens."

Halle glanced at him but then looked back at the movie. Manhattan stared at him.

"Zeppelin."

Zeppelin ignored him, engrossed in the movie while he mouthed the words along with Christopher Guest.

"These go to eleven," Zeppelin giggled in his poor, British accent.

"_Zeppelin Cohen!_" Summer retorted.

Zeppelin turned and faced Seth.

"That's better." He paused and looked down at Summer. "So…how do you guys feel like going to Cali for awhile?"

He couldn't meet Summer's eyes, he couldn't, he _couldn't_…

"_That's_ going to be our trip for the summer holiday? Oh I knew it!" Halle squealed. "I said to Zepp, I said, hey Zepp, we're going on a holiday this summer, I could _feel_ it."

"Well, you're crazy!" Zeppelin yelled. "We've _never_ been on a holiday, why should this summer be different?"

"Maybe…maybe longer than a holiday," he spoke loudly, breaking up their fight.

"What?" Manhattan spoke up from the depths of the couch, her eyes never leaving his.

"Maybe we'll move back to Newport for awhile. Mommy got a job there."

"What do you mean "_back"_?" Zeppelin growled. "_We_ grew up in New York, we ain't no Westies."

Zeppelin was a thoroughbred New York boy; New York City was part of his heart, enclosed into his personality and feed through his speech. He considered himself as integral to New York as John Belushi and the Saturday Night Live boys were back in the seventies.

Summer was staring at him.

"What are you doing?" She whispered.

"I'm making my family happy," he muttered.

Manhattan was smart. His family was _connected_. He and Summer were _connected_. If Summer was gone, then he was gone. And if _they _were gone, then their family was gone.

_Are we okay?_

Oh baby, you're making me crazy, he sang to himself. He was pushing down his proud and standing tall with his family. His _proudest _achievement.

My family, he thought and shook his head.

He was making Summer happy. He was going to slink back to Newport where everyone was going to think that they had given up. He was going to piss off Zeppelin and cause riots in the gossip scene and he _didn't want to do it_.

But he could feel the demise of his family if they stayed in New York.

So it was back to Newport.


	4. Three

A/N: Awww, I like this chapter. I'm probably setting myself up for some criticism now, saying that I like it. But I can't help it, I think I really captured the feeling of them moving…(pause while my big head explodes all over the ceiling). R&R, as always!

BTW, this chapter takes place _straight_ after the last chapter, and is spread over the course of a month. Next chapter: Newport, Ryan and Kandy! (I can't make up my mind of having Ryan and Marissa together. Personally I want to make this realistic and I don't it will be if I put Ryrissa together, for some reason. I wasn't even planning a huge Marissa appearance, if one at all, before I got a couple of requests in some reviews. Your thoughts?)

_Chapter Three_

It wasn't much of anything, it wasn't much at all.

"Just our fricken life," Summer muttered to Seth.

Just their fricken life. Bits and pieces that made parts of their life, formed parts of their family, became tiny sections of their memories.

Summer buried her face into her arms then continued watching the movers pick up their life and throw it into a truck, their life in the form of boxes.

Zeppelin tugged at his arm, his small little face frowning in despair.

"This can't happen Daddy-o," he whispered frantically.

_This can't happen Daddy-o_. It _can't_ happen. But it _was_ happening and it was _still _happening.

Life moved like the Flash sometimes. Breaking the sound barrier, just a _flash_ of light that whips past and grazes you on your cheek, to remind you that it was once there but wasn't anymore. It had been a month since he announced that _the Cohen Clan was moving_. And what a month.

Summer handed in her two-week notice, the day after they decided. She was fairly placid about the whole "idea", telling the kids that she was _"bummed about moving too". _But he could she was screaming in delight on the inside, doing handstands and backflips in her head. She got up early, a mean feat for Summer and cooked her Cohen Clan pancakes and bacon every morning. On Fridays, her _day for music_, she played The Killers _Hot Fuss_ album non-stop, her favourite album _"in the whole bloody world Seth."_ She served them bacon while serenading them with _Everything Will Be Alright_ then would collapse on a chair and sigh.

"What a song," she would always say.

Summer was his mood barometer, his source for his moods. If she was happy, then he was happy. And he was feeling happier. It was a dangerous thing, he supposed, his moods being connected with Summer's moods. He knew a girl whose moods were connected with the weather; if it was cloudy, she was grumpy, if it was sunny, she was happy.

He was more reluctant to hand in his notice. Summer convinced him to not look for another job, to _start his NOVEL. His NOVEL. _That word indented into his mind, scratched onto his bones. His _NOVEL_. It was like those people who said, "Oh, when I win the lottery, I'll buy that house". Pipe dreams. But he had it in him, he supposed.

_Write what you know_.

_We're all in the gutter but some are looking at the stars._

Summer kept leaving little quotes around the house, sticking them on the fridge. It was very…un-Summer. She hated clichés like those. But she loved him more.

_Write what you know_. He felt he didn't know much, really.

The rush to move was a simple enough idea. They wanted the kids to be settled before school started up again. _"We have to move in a month. Then the kids have two months before school starts again, Seth_." So a month it was and a month it became.

Summer quit, he quit, movers were organised, their life was packed into boxes, the kids sulked and Ryan beamed.

_"You're coming back to __Newport__? But that's…great!"_

It was the first time he could hear Ryan's smile over the phone.

"_Sure you can stay with me for awhile. This house is huge…I can't wait for the Cohen Clan to stomp around it…make some noise."_

For awhile. _For awhile_. He repeated that to Summer repeatedly, while she laughed with Ryan on the phone. _We're only staying with him for awhile_, he whispered frantically. She swatted him away with annoyed look.

_I know_, she kept saying. But he didn't think she really did. It wasn't that he hated Ryan and couldn't stand to live with him. It wasn't that at all. It was…the _principle_ of things. It was his pride, biting him on the arse and reminding him that he was moving back to Newport with _his own family_. He was all grown up and protective of his little family. And he wanted to prove that to everyone. He would never be _just Seth Cohen_ when he lived in _Ryan's_ house.

He had never really been _just Seth Cohen_. Always _Kirsten and Sandy's son_ or _that __Chino__ guy's friend_ or _Summer's loser boyfriend _or _Caleb Nichol's grandson_.

That's why _New York__, baby it was for him_. Because when he went to Columbia, nobody knew any of those people, they just knew him. Zeppelin didn't know who his parents were or who Ryan was or what power Caleb Nichol had. And he didn't care. So for the first time, he was _just Seth Cohen_. In New York, he had a family and a job and lived in a neighbourhood where he sort of had power. Because _it was all his_.

"Seth, Newport isn't going to bite our heads off," Summer whispered to him, late one night while the summer heat kept them up till one am, making it impossible to sleep.

"But people won't see us the same way. People are just going see us the way we were when we left. When we were _eighteen_. And now we're thirty-four. People aren't going to respect us."

"What does respect have to do with this?" She asked from a deep tangle of sheets, limbs and sweat. The muggy air closed around them tightly. He would miss this the most. The soft, hushed conversations late at night, while New York lived outside their window. He loved New York. His life was here.

"Respect has everything to do with this," he muttered.

"Why do you care if Newport people respect you? _I_ respect you. Your _children_ respect you. Aren't we the important ones?"

_Aren't they the important ones?_

He buried his face into his pillow and turned to her. She was basking in the moonlight, which poured over the bed in a wide, rectangular strip and made her eyes glow.

"It's just that…we've changed a lot Wonderwall. Newport doesn't really like change."

He only called her Wonderwall during these late night talk sessions. He only called her Wonderwall when the temperature rose and their skins both shone with the indication of summer heat. His "stupid little pet-name", she always called it. She loved it. _Another stupid Cohen tradition_. They had too many. But she loved them.

She dodged his statement. "I'll miss New York summers," she said softly.

New York summers were grimy and dirty, the weather making people angrier than usual. The muggy air made your energy drain, made you sticky, made the back of your knees sweat. But he felt as if that somehow, _that was how summer was supposed to be_. Newport summers were bright and glary, almost hurt his eyes. The perfect temperatures and the perfect weather coated a layer of plastic over their perfect town. Somehow the "perfect-ness" of the summer almost felt fake.

The Cohen Clan loved New York summers. It meant Fourth of July in Central Park, meant summer holidays spent in downtown Queens, meant _freedom_. Zeppelin was at his best in the summertime.

Zeppelin refused to pack. He stood rooted in his room, while Halle cried and begged them to make Zeppelin happy. Twins. He _had _to have _twins_. Because one Seth and Summer weren't enough. Zeppelin and Halle were pure Seth and Summer at their loudest and most stubborn.

Finally Seth lost his temper and ripped down Zeppelin's poster of Jimmy Paige.

"This is it. We are moving. We are moving. Zeppelin, you've gotta start putting your things away."

Zeppelin stood small in his Superman pyjamas, while his room laid cluttered around him. He shared a room with Halle and her items were packed neatly in boxes in one corner. He looked small and innocent and very much _just a seven-year old boy_. Seth sometimes forgot that.

Then Zeppelin started to cry and Seth was reminded full force.

"Daddy," he sobbed and buried his face into one of Seth's legs.

Halle started to cry louder and ran over and wrapped her arms around his other leg.

But Seth didn't cry. Because he was _Daddy_.

"He's got such a mouth on him Sum…I forget he's only seven."

He whispered that later to Summer in one of their late night sessions. _Then_ he cried. Because in front of Summer, he was just Seth and she loved him for it, didn't judge him for it.

The kids started to sleep downstairs in the living room after awhile, when it got so hot. Then one week before they officially flew over to Newport, their beds got "shipped" and they _had_ to sleep downstairs.

"Slumber party!" giggled Halle.

"Slumber party!" echoed Summer.

Manhattan laughed. James laughed and clapped his hands.

Zeppelin and Seth smiled at each other and went and sat down on their hammock on the porch.

"How long do you think we'll stay in Newport Dad?"

"You'll like it, I promise," he could only answer. But he had never really liked it that much and his whole time there, just like _his_ dad, he kept thinking of their times spent in Berkeley. Now Zeppelin would become him and he would become his dad, only Berkeley would be replaced with _New York_.

"What's going to be the hardest thing?" His dad asked on the phone. "I mean, what's going to be the hardest thing to leave behind? I just…I hate moving."

"New York."

What had he sung to Manhattan, just after she was born? _"Our heart is in __New York__"._

Their heart.

"Our life," Summer whispered.

She knew that once Newport was their new postal address, that life would not magically change straight away. She might not even be happy there, just as she was not happy here. It mightn't "solve all their problems". But she _was_ unhappy. And he sort of was too. But however unhappy they were, they still loved New York.

"Will our traditions stop?" asked Manhattan softly, while he and her walked back from the supermarket, late one summer's eve.

"Traditions?" he laughed and swatted off a fly.

"You know, our music mornings, our celebration of the first night of summer and the last day of school…all our little things." She said it softly again, plodding gently on the pavements, swinging her plaits slightly from side to side.

"Of course not baby." He always felt like Vince Vaughn when he called someone "baby".

"But…I mean, we won't be home anymore. We might forget some. You know, some that come like second nature to us, won't be because we're…not here."

He stumbled over an invisible crack in the pavement and smiled at her. "We're the Cohens. We're…New Yorkers," he said triumphantly. "I think we'll survive. We'll show those Newporters a thing or two."

She laughed, her little musical voice floating through the humid air. She stopped outside their house, balancing a paper bag on one hip and placing her hand on the other.

"I think we'll survive too Daddy. You seem a bit happier already."

He kind of was. Every instinct in his body was telling him to frown, to yell, to make _this move difficult._ But he couldn't help it. Somewhere, he was secretly excited. At the same place, he wanted to cry, because he _really_ didn't want to do this. But he was still excited.

Halle picked up on that. She danced with him in their half empty house, while their furniture slowly disappeared around them.

"Daddy, Zeppelin was blaming you for this move. I told him to blame Mommy, because it's _her_ new job that we're moving for. But he was blaming you."

She paused and puffed out her cheeks then spun herself around, using his arm as a propeller.

"But he doesn't anymore. It's an adventure. Besides, I can become a scientist in anywhere. It will be heaps more fun to perform experiments on Newport people."

She grinned at him and they waltzed their way over to Summer and fell on top on her, while she slumbered gently on their remaining couch.

Halle always wanted to be a scientist. It started early, when Summer taught her how to make crystals from salt, one rainy day in December. From then on, she decided that her "gift to the world" was to discover "things". She never specified what exactly "things" she would discover, just that she would. And when she saw _Ghostbusters_, at age four on an ageing DVD, she formed her motto, straight from Bill Murray's mouth:

"Back off, I'm a scientist."

She said it with a laugh in her voice and Summer always rolled her eyes.

"She wants to become a _scientist_. She got her nerdy genes from you, obviously."

"It makes perfect sense that the _one_ experiment you know how to do is to make _crystals_," he always shot back.

Two days before their flight, Zeppelin invited ­­­Billie over. The sister of Dead Zeppelin, as he was bluntly referred to; their last remaining tie of their New York family. The godmother of James.

She was tall, flighty and had a tattoo of her ex-boyfriend on her wrist. Her round, eye-liner smoky eyes stared at the Cohen Clan, as they sat on boxes, their house nearly entirely empty.

"It's just me left," she moaned to Summer.

"You've still got your friends and your family and that current boyfriend of yours," Summer muttered.

Summer had little patience for Billie. She was the god-aunt of James, the best friend of Zeppelin, the sister of Seth's dead best friend but Summer couldn't stand her. She was emotional, crazy, wild and just a little _too_ "stuffed-up". Zeppelin's death, ten years ago, had cut her deep.

"I don't like her around my son," was her constant whisper to Seth.

"She's like family," he always replied.

She lived them with for awhile, back when she was fourteen and had run away from home. She called once a month, always sobbing about what particular boyfriend had left her. She always stayed over every few weeks, crying for hours then disappearing off into the night. Summer was _sure_ she was into drugs.

Thank god Seth wasn't Ryan. That he didn't develop a passion for trying to "save her".

_She's un-save-able_. He said that when she was fifteen and dropping out of school, dying her hair black. _Un-save-able_. Summer hated how horrible that sounded. _Couldn't everyone be saved_? The little six-year old in her asked.

The Cohen Clan spent their last night in New York lying in sleeping bags and playing cards for hours. Zeppelin sat off to the side, staring out the window, trying to memorise every section of New York in his head, preserve each memory in ice. Manhattan kept going off into long bouts of silence. Summer and Halle smiled, always smiled and Seth sat with James in his lap on their porch.

"We'll be alright," he echoed his thoughts.

They caught a seven am flight and flew away from New York, flew away from what was now becoming a past life.

_Everything will be alright_, Summer sang along with The Killers.

Everything will be alright, Seth prayed.


	5. Four

A/N: Hmmm….have had serious writer's block and also a heap of exams, remember that us folks down here in the Southern Hemisphere still have half a semester left of the uni year, while the rest of you Northern Hemisphere people have just started!

Not entirely sure that I'm happy with this chapter but after such bad writer's block I'm happy to post anything. Hopefully this chapter captured the mood I'm trying to create, sort of an awkward, unsure and unfamiliar sense for the Cohen Clan. Must state also that this chapter starts at the end of the day and it's Seth looking back at the day. I think the editing of this chapter may be awful as well, please forgive spelling and grammatical errors but I felt like my brain has melted after these past couple of weeks.

Also, there are two sets of lines from two of my favourite movies. A billion hugs and kisses for the first person to find them both.

_Chapter Four_

"Our son just called me a bitch."

Seth folded down his book and looked his wife over. "You're not a bitch. You're bitchin', but you're not a bitch."

Summer laughed.

Newport was ultimate Groundhog Day; Bill Murray could be seen lurking around the beaches, humming Sonny and Cher songs to himself. Nothing had changed, everything stayed the same.

_Nothing had changed_. That was all he thought, all he _could_ think. Newport was the same.

The cab drove through the back streets, while the meter ticked upwards and _Moonlight Mile _by the Rolling Stones played in his head.

"Daddy," whispered Manhattan, curling her hands into his and holding it tight, "Daddy, these houses are so big."

This was only the back streets, the _numbered _streets. He knew what the cab driver was doing, they were tourists from New York, _they_ didn't know their way around Newport.

That's what the cab driver was thinking anyway.

"Wait till you see Daddy's house," Summer muttered.

The Cohen Clan were New Yorkers, his kids were _New Yorkers_. They had never left the state of New York, had never seen mansions, only stood outside Park Avenue penthouses and wondered what it looked like inside.

Until now, he supposed.

Halle smiled at him. "I can't wait to see Grandad and Grandma again," she laughed.

Summer used to have a friend back in New York, a tall, tanned French Canadian girl called Pascale, who would come over on Saturday nights and sit on the floor and watch _Simpsons_reruns with him and Summer, while she sipped Diet Coke and Vodka. She had the longest, darkest, straightest hair he had ever seen and liked to sing _Simpsons_ songs to herself after she drank too much.

Once she turned up when Sandy and Kirsten were visiting, late one Saturday night when the twins were just five, Manhattan only six and James not even born. She thundered in her stilettos and New York/rock star styled fashion, carrying a bottle of Diet Coke and wearing a new tongue ring.

"I come bearing gifts," she said shiftily in her sly, French styled accent.

Sandy and Kirsten weren't used to these New York blooded type of people and the evening was spent discussing politics, which Pascale hated doing, and having formed, forced conversations. Sandy and Kirsten left about eleven and Summer headed immediately for the vodka.

"Time for a drink," she announced.

"Time for Saturday Night Live," Pascale announced, nodding her magnificent head.

Seth opted for a beer. He liked his Saturday nights. He liked his New York friends with their tongue rings, shifty personalities and unannounced visits. He liked his New York life.

"Your parents, they are strange?" Pascale giggled, her left eyebrow raised.

Summer giggled but Seth just shook his head. "They're my _parents_. I love them. We're just a bit different now."

That was nearly three years ago; the last time Sandy and Kirsten visited New York. They had never even met Baby James. And his Cohen Clan had never visited Newport.

He just smiled at Halle. "I bet they can't wait to see you either."

The cab finally pulled up into his old street, the meter ten dollars more than it should have been. An old Shins song played on the cab's radio while Summer hesitantly paid the expensive cab fare.

"We should've told him to stop going through the back streets. He was just ripping us off because he thought we were tourists," she hissed to Seth as he heaved their suitcases out of the boot.

Seth just shrugged. "Who can blame him? All the kids have the heaviest New York accents I've ever heard. Besides, he was alright…he had good taste in music."

Summer just rolled her eyes.

His Cohen Clan lugged their suitcases up the hilly driveway, Seth's childhood home towering in front of them, his _childhood…_

Halle stood poised outside the front door, her grin big and wide. Manhattan stood half-hidden behind her mother's skirt, James sat happily on Seth's hip and Zeppelin stood off to one side, looking disinterested.

"I'll knock," Halle laughed and knocked the beat of her favourite song, _The Nosebleed Section_.

They waited for a few minutes, Summer's eyes never leaving Seth's. She looked scared. He knew she was remembering the last Thanksgiving they had spent here. Years ago, back in their senior year. She and Seth spent the miserable morning at her house, then left at lunch to spend the rest at his. _Wait, let's knock_, she told Seth nervously. _It's my own home_, he laughed, _we can just go right in._ Summer's frightened eyes begged him not to complain and she said softly, _Let's__ just be polite. I want Kirsten to know that I can be polite_. He didn't have a reply for that and he knocked, knocking the beat of a Death Cab song. They both stood there in silence for a few minutes and he began to felt nervous, although he couldn't say why.

Later after that Thanksgiving, Summer curled up on his bed. She realised to herself that maybe she didn't really have a family but Seth did, and his was perfect. _I want a family_, she told Seth, her eyelashes wet with tears. _You can have mine, _he told her desperately, because he would do anything to stop her crying.

Years later, they were back in the same place, doing the same thing. _Groundhog Day.__ Nothing had changed_. Except this time, Summer was returning with her _own_ family.

She smiled triumphantly at Seth.

Kirsten swung the door open, her excited face matching Halle's.

"Sandy, they're here!" She called out behind her.

Sandy jogged into the hallway.

"Come in, come in," she grinned, her smile cracking her face. "You guys took forever!"

"It was cab driver," Summer replied awkwardly. "I think he thought we were tourists so he…"

"Took you through the back streets?" Sandy asked knowingly. "See, _that's_ why you should have let us pick you guys up."

"Oh we couldn't have," Summer smiled politely.

His Cohen Clan stood in their massive hallway uncomfortably in silence. Zeppelin stood in the open doorway, his face blank and impassive. Manhattan still hid behind her mother's skirt. Halle edged closer to Seth, reaching out for his leg.

Seth shifted James on his hips.

"This is James," he said proudly, breaking the silence.

"Hello Jimmy," Sandy said and reached out for him, wincing at the word _Jimmy_. "You did that to annoy me Seth, I swear."

Kirsten smiled at Summer. "Come and put your stuff down, you must be pretty tired, flying cross country with four kids."

They followed her silently down the hallway, Halle's and Zeppelin's large, wondering eyes taking in the house. Sandy chatted nonsense to James, swinging him to and fro.

The kids collapsed down in the airy living room, remaining quiet the whole time.

"Who wants drinks?" Kirsten clasped her hands together.

"I'll help," Summer followed.

Seth sat gingerly down on the couch, cushioned between Zeppelin and Halle. Sandy sat down on the other side of Zeppelin and grinned, passing James back to Seth.

"What'd ya think Zepp?" He laughed to Zeppelin.

Zeppelin shrugged.

Halle frowned at her twin. "We've never seen houses like this in New York Mr Sandy…sir."

Sandy laughed. "I'm Grandad; don't call me Mr Sandy…or sir."

Halle nodded.

Seth picked at a nail on his hand. His house as he remembered it had never been this quiet. There was always him and Ryan, and before Ryan, it was always him playing music or his dad watching television, his bellowing laugh echoing through the house.

Sandy frowned and opened his mouth in confusion.

"Drinks!" called Kirsten cheerily.

Summer came out carrying a tray of what looked like glasses of milk and what had to be Diet Coke. It was always Diet Coke in their house, at Summer's insistence. _Coke is bad enough with the caffeine and the sugar, at least this has no sugar_.

"Milk for Zeppelin," Summer passed to Zeppelin.

"Diet Coke for us!" Halle gleefully sang. She and Manhattan slurped noisily.

The unwritten rule for the Cohen Clan kids was that if you got a glass of milk, it was time to "buck up solider". It basically meant that if you got a glass of milk, that one parent didn't like _your attitude_ and you wouldn't be allowed any Coke until you _changed it_.

Zeppelin eyed the milk grouchily.

"What I have done?" He growled and handed the glass back to Summer. "It's _you_ that should be drinking this."

He stood up angrily. "Where's the bathroom?" He barked to Seth.

Seth stood up, tall and imposing, reaching his full, six inch and two feet height. "I'll be glad to show you," he said through clenched teeth.

Zeppelin rolled his eyes. "I'll find it myself." He stalked out of the room, leaving a room full of tense, silent people.

Summer smiled faintly. "He didn't want to leave his home. He's just a bit angry at me for taking this job."

"Yeah well, he's only seven years old. And what a mouth!" Seth grouched. "He shouldn't speak to you that way!"

Summer patted his hand. "I know," she said gently.

"He's just…he's just…too rude!"

"I know," she said gently again.

Sandy looked on with an amused smile. "He's just like you as an angry little kid, Seth."

Manhattan giggled behind her hand.

"I was never angry!"

"Before Ryan?" Kirsten teased.

Seth rolled his eyes.

The afternoon was spent discussing memories, histories of their lives, from both sides. The kids stood in rapture of Sandy's stories about Newport lives and Manhattan and Kirsten went off and had a quiet conversation about something they wouldn't discuss with anyone else.

Zeppelin spent the time wandering silently around the house, peering into this room and that, finally settling himself in Seth's old room. He lied nonchalantly on his back on the blue carpet, staring at the ceiling for hours, before pouring through Seth's old C.D. collection.

Summer spent the later part of the afternoon preparing dinner.

"I'll make my famous Indian curry," she promised.

"Your kids eat that?" Sandy asked.

"We lived in Queens Dad; it's hard to escape other nations' food. One of our neighbours was Indian and he'd invite us over for curry night, every Wednesday."

"He was a forty-five year old, pot bellied school groundskeeper and he told me all his recipe secrets," Summer said proudly. "I couldn't cook before him. Then I started to cook Indian and then I got into Thai and Vietnamese and Seth's favourite, Italian."

"I love a good fatty, cheesy ravioli," he replied.

"Our Indian neighbour had the total hots for me," Summer said haughtily.

Halle laughed. "He was so into you Mommy."

Sandy just smiled. "Good to see you haven't changed Summer." He paused then glanced at Seth. "Interesting family dynamic you've got going here, by the way."

Seth just poured some coconut milk for Summer and stayed silent.

Ryan came over around six, the dinner being served on the table.

"I came at the perfect time," he laughed, rubbing his hands together.

Newport was the ultimate Groundhog Day and Ryan hadn't changed.

But he seemed more comfortable within himself.

"Uncle Ryan!" Halle and Manhattan squealed.

Zeppelin sat reluctantly at the table, while he watched Halle and Manhattan squabble as to who could sit next to _Uncle Ryan_ at the table.

He frowned at his plate.

"I hate curry, I don't want to eat this." Zeppelin pushed the plate away.

Summer paused while serving herself. "I made this for you Zepp, it's your favourite."

"Well I don't like it anymore." Zeppelin took a bite then frowned. "It tasted different when we were in New York. It tasted…_better_."

His dark, Summer-like eyes were daring Seth, he could tell. His father thought that Zeppelin was like him, but Seth knew better. Zeppelin was _allll_ Summer, at her angriest.

Ryan sat uncomfortably at the table, while the rest of the table sat in silence. Seth's eyes never left Zeppelin.

"Apologise," Seth said quietly.

Zeppelin glared at him and left the table, stomping away.

"Leave him," Seth sighed, when Summer started to get up.

Zeppelin was _allll_ Summer, at her angriest. And Summer at her angriest could only be dealt with in one way. Just be left alone.

The dinner was spent discussing plans, excited smiles on all of the faces, drinks poured, a chatty Summer and Ryan laughing loudly.

"So you guys are coming to my place after this?" Ryan smiled.

Kirsten shook her head. "No, everyone spend the night, I want a full house again. Plus, everyone has drunken too much to drive."

"I'm not drunk," Summer insisted, then giggled.

"Mommy, you're the biggest drunk I know," Manhattan said shyly and jokingly.

Manhattan was too much like Kirsten and Ryan, Seth always thought. A quiet, shy little thing who tended to say less and think more.

An evening wasted away, sounds of people talking loudly and fast, trying to catch up on missed years of conversations. Halle and Manhattan fell asleep on the couch around eleven, the television playing infomercials loudly.

Summer collapsed onto Seth's old bed at eleven-thirty, where Zeppelin laid half asleep.

"I'm sorry Zeppelin," she whispered to him, stroking his head gently.

Zeppelin stared at her. "You don't care about us, you just care about making money from your stupid job. You're a bitch."

Summer laid frozen for what seemed like hours but was only really a couple minutes. She slunk out and crept into the guest room, where Seth was curled up on the bed, reading an old Stephen King novel.

"Our son just called me a bitch."

They spent their midnight sessions talking softly, like they used to do in New York.

"Except there's no humidity," Summer noted.

"We always said that we hated the heat," Seth replied.

"We were lying," Summer said quietly.

Around one am, Summer cried a little. Because it hit her that New York was a past life. And she didn't know how she felt in her new one.

"I'm stuck," she sobbed a little.

Seth kissed her.

"We'll have fun tomorrow. We'll move into Ryan's _pad_ and you can have a whole house to control and redecorate."

"I can redecorate his house?" Summer's eyes gleamed excitedly.

"Hey, he said it was _everyone's_ house now. So I don't see why Ryan wouldn't mind."

They both laughed sourly.

The clean sheets tangled their ways through their legs and caused creases on their legs.

"I'm stuck too," he told her softly.


	6. FAQ

_Author's note / "Pride's FAQ":_

Just a quick message to all those fan-bloody-tastic reviewers out there. I have gotten several questions such as (I'm paraphrasing these questions, by the way):

"What's up with the Sandy and Kirsten relationship with Seth?"

"Why does Seth want to remove himself from money so much?"

"Why do they want to keep away from Newport so much?"

"What's up with the slightly, OOC Seth and Summer's moods?"

And, probably the most repeated statement:

"WE NEED THE BACKSTORY!!"

Now, my faithful, amazing reviewers out there, know this: I promise your (reasonable and understandable) questions will all be answered throughout the story I don't want to blurt out the entire point of the story in one paragraph or whatever. It's a writer's trick (snort), I'm leaving it hanging (or shamelessly stretching it out, a la the "will they/won't they" Ed and Carol plotline on _Ed_, I can't decide, lol).

I promise what seems like a mess or strange or unanswered tale will all make sense later because I like this story and I'm going to keep this going for awhile.

I feel guilty because I feel you guys are getting frustrated and I want to answer everything but I can't really because that will give away the plot line. So keep reviewing and I apologise if my non-sensical (yes, it's a word, why do you ask?) story is frustrating you a bit but it will alllllllll make sense further down the track, I swear!

But you reviewers are amazing (53 reviews for four chapters! That's wicked, it's blown my personal records!) so just reading and reviewing!


	7. Five

A/N: Sorry, It's been REALLY long. I suffered from B-A-D writer's block. But here it is. Anyways, props to the person who picked up the Donnie Darko reference in the last chapter, but I did say there were _two _movie references in there and no one picked up the second one. Come on, try harder! Lol, anyways, as always R&R

_Chapter Five_

A week. A week of being in Newport and six days of living in Ryan's house.

Except…

_It's your house now guys._

Normally Ryan or Seth would've winced at such a corny comment. But Ryan seemed comfortable saying it.

Seth wandered around the large, impassive house on the early Sunday morning. Ryan's four bedroom home was typically Ryan, if that was such a thing. Stark furniture and colours, with a minimal CD and DVD collection. It was large and impersonal, as if no one ever really lived there at all. And no one practically did, seeing as how Ryan apparently traveled all the time.

Ryan was attempting to make it feel more accommodating. He told the kids they could decorate their rooms anyway they wanted, he would even hire a decorator for them if they wanted. Seth made constant feeble protestations that this living situation _was only temporary_ and that _they were going to find their own place_. Most of the Cohen Clan ignored him, even Summer, swept up in the idea of getting new furniture and redecorating.

"Remember when we did Marissa's room? Total flashback," she giggled to him.

The only other Cohen Clan member that seemed wary of this _redecorating_ idea was Zeppelin. They shared a mutual, silent male bond and shared glances that simply said, _women_, whenever Halle, Manhattan and Summer started to gush about paint colours. But it was more than that. Designing their bedrooms in Ryan's home seemed too…_permanent_. Zeppelin still had a half-baked notion, a longing, that maybe that this move to California wasn't _permanent_. And Seth kind of did too.

Seth slide down the hallways in his bare feet, while the house quietly slumbered and the six-thirty sunrise framed the windows. Halle and Manhattan, sharing the blue bedroom down the hall both snored softly. A habit obviously inherited from their mother, though she would never believe it if you told her. He paused outside Zeppelin's room, which he shared with James.

He heard Zeppelin faintly singing and pushed the door slightly opened.

"Yeah you fell in love and you went and got married," Zeppelin sang.

"Had yourself a family, how simple life can be," Seth joined in.

Zeppelin stopped at the sight of Seth.

Seth sighed and went and sank down on the end of his bed.

"You gonna give this bratty kid attitude up soon Zepp? 'Cas it's getting old. There are plenty of Newport kids around here that do that sort of thing regularly. So put on your New York attitude and show them how you can be the bigger man. Try a little harder."

"Daddy, I'm only seven."

Zeppelin stared at him then climbed into his lap. The Cohen men, gangly by tradition, wrapped their long arms around each other and listened to Baby James slumber softly.

"But maybe I can show these Newport kids a thing or too," he muttered.

The Sunday morning was spent lounging around the house, Summer lavishing the last day she had before starting her new job, Seth lavishing the last day of unofficial non-permanence, because as soon as Summer started her new job, it was sort of official: They had moved to Newport and they were staying.

Ryan had taken the week off to _make them feel comfortable_ and he was going back to work tomorrow. He spent his Sunday tied up in his office, yelling at people on the phone and pouring through pages and pages of paper and blueprints.

Halle and Zeppelin laid by the pool, talking animatedly about their old neighbours, the De Palmers.

"If I saw Nate, I would totally say," Zeppelin sang, "hey, De Palmer. This is our giant house."

"With our beach-side view," sang Halle.

"And our pool!" they shouted in unison.

Summer watched from the kitchen through the window.

"Zeppelin seems better."

"Zeppelin told me he'd try to make an effort," Seth muttered, not looking up from his paper. "But it probably won't last."

"Daddy!" Manhattan said, where she was lying on the couch, watching him read the paper.

"Well, he's as moody as your mother, it's to be expected."

Summer looked at him and rolled her eyes.

Sunday was spent lying on the couch, doing nothing, having no energy to want to. Sunday afternoon was spent dancing with Manhattan and Zeppelin to some old, old, _old_ Talking Heads CDs, dancing to _Burning Down the House_ on repeat over and over again.

"Daddy," giggled Manhattan as she swung around him, "Daddy, how old's this song?"

"Olllllllddddddddd," he sang, and pretended to dance in slow motion with Zeppelin. "Talking Heads are _pure_ eighties. It's older than me."

Little bits of his New York life were starting to slowly plaster their way onto his new one. Spending a Sunday afternoon listening to some Talking Heads was pure New York way of spending his afternoon.

The house, Ryan's house, _your new home_, was starting to change a little too. He and the kids spent one day going through their large CD collection and adding it to Ryan's meagre one. Bikes, including his old battered one that he rode to work every morning back in New York, laid scattered outside the front door. Kid shoes seemed to be everywhere. The hallways smelt of James' baby powder. Manhattan had already spilt bright red black-current juice on Ryan's clean, cream carpet.

All were too scared to mention their morning tradition of listening to music to Ryan. The Cohen Clan awoke to silence every morning, something none of them were used to, and Seth dreamed of waking up to laughter and talking, the sounds of music, the sound of a city. But the two-storey house, where the four bedrooms laid upstairs, missed the talking down in the kitchen. The sounds of a city were impossible and all he dreamed was for the _music_.

He and Ryan shared a beer by the pool on the lazy day Sunday, while the sun set around them and _Burning Down the House_ could still be heard from the house.

"If you…uh…want to play music in the morning, that's okay with me," Ryan muttered.

Seth raised an eyebrow.

"I just remember you guys telling me _ages_ ago that was a…thing you sort of all did. So I don't make it feel like you _can't_…or something."

Ryan stared at his beer. Seth felt like he, Seth Cohen, was pretending to be a _man's man_. Football, beer, don't cry and speak about feelings and all that.

"Hey man, that's cool," Seth role-played and laughed loudly inside his head. "You can even have a morning…if you want. I mean, Monday to Friday all's booked, but…you can have Saturday if you want."

Don't take Saturday, don't take Saturday, he begged in his head. Saturdays were random play mornings, anything went on Saturdays. He loved the "crazy freedom," as Halle always called it.

"Nah, man, that's cool," Ryan repeated, and Seth wondered if Ryan was mocking him. "I've never…you know…been into music much."

It felt like one of the conversations they had back when they first met. Back when Ryan was unsure of Seth and couldn't read him and Seth couldn't read Ryan.

"I saw that you guys had a hammock, you should put it out here," Ryan said.

"Yeah," Seth replied. Yeah. That hammock was just a hammock but it was just a hammock tied to the porch of their first home, the hammock that he came home to every night after work and collapsed into with Summer. Or _was_. Yeah. Maybe _that_ Cohen tradition was saved for just New York. He liked to keep some things to himself.

Sunday night was spent having dinner with the parents.

"It'll be a regular thing," beamed Kirsten. "Dinner every Sunday."

Kirsten and Summer spent the time curled up on the couch together, having hushed, gossiping conversations. Summer was settling in more than Seth. He still felt like a visitor, which wasn't hard, considering he kind of felt like that even _before_ he went off to New York. But Summer had always been part of Newport, a little. He just liked to think that maybe she was all East Coast now, like him. But some of her heart was obviously still in Newport.

Sandy was laughing with Manhattan as she told him she spent her afternoon dancing with her dad to Talking Heads. They began to loudly to sing _Burning Down the House_ together, then Sandy, Halle and Manhattan sat with Kirsten and Summer and they started to tell stories of when Seth and Summer were kids, starting with how they first met.

"I've never heard these stories Daddy," Manhattan called to him, where he stood in the kitchen. "Did Mommy really hate you?"

Seth walked back to the dining room, where Ryan and Zeppelin were sitting at the table in silence.

"One big happy family out there," Seth muttered, then he turned to tiny Zeppelin, with his curly, messy hair and patted his knee. "Us Cohen men, we have to stick together."

Zeppelin nodded. "Okay Daddy."

Ryan snorted.

"What?" Seth asked.

"Nothing," said Ryan but Seth knew what he was thinking. Seth was a _grown up_. Seth was a _Daddy_ and Seth was the head of a household and it was _so strange_. Even Seth thought it was strange sometimes. Back in New York, he used to come home to _his house_ and Summer would be at the table sorting out bills and he would cook dinner for all his _kids_ and he would just feel like an imposter.

Zeppelin was starting to act less bratty. It was mainly because of Ryan, he realized after awhile. Ryan was quiet and careful and Zeppelin was loud, obnoxious, and rude, like a younger of Seth and Summer compacted into one. For that reason, they got along.

He left Ryan and Zeppelin at the table, where Zeppelin was listing why he loved New York so much and Ryan listening attentively and went outside and sat at the table by the pool. He felt much very alone. Everyone was _settling in_.

He faced the night sky and felt his heart ache for a city skyline, for the sounds of cars and people yelling and the mugginess. All he wanted for was _home_. All he wanted was…

"Who's sulking then?"

He turned, to where Summer stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips.

"I'm not sulking."

She raised one eyebrow then slowly stalked over to him, climbing in his lap.

"I felt like I haven't spoken to you in a week," she told him softly.

From the inside of the house, loud laughter shattered the air.

Summer held his face and kissed him gently on the cheek.

"What's wrong Cohen?"

He shrugged and felt unattached from her. "I guess I'm just the only one who's homesick."

"Oh Cohen."

She kissed on the lips, then rested her head on his chest. "I miss home too."

"I know."

They sat in silence for a long time, listening to the voices from the house.

"I'm just trying to settle in, make life easier."

"I know."

"I mean, I start a new job tomorrow, I can't be wallowing around and missing home."

"I know."

"And it's good that the kids are settling in."

"I know."

She sighed.

"Why do I feel like I owe you an explanation or something? Like I'm betraying you or something?"

He shrugged.

"Start your novel, then you'll feel better," she said feebly then rolled her eyes. "I'm being ridiculous."

He laughed. "Summer? Being ridiculous? That's _unheard_ of."

"Shutup, I just…Seth…" she paused. "Oh…I don't know."

She curled up tighter on his lap and kissed him again. Then they just both sat in silence, getting comfort from just sitting together. Ryan came out after awhile then stopped.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," he looked away.

"Ryan, we're just _sitting _here," laughed Summer.

"I know but…" then he laughed and walked over and sat opposite them. "You know I was thinking about it…before, like this week, we hadn't seen each other in almost six years."

"Yeah. We know," stated Seth flatly.

"I mean, we talked on the phone _a lot _but we never visited each other. And I don't even know why."

"I do," Summer said. "Because your job makes you travel a lot and you have work a lot so you don't really have time."

"But that's not really an ex-"

"AND," she said loudly, cutting him off, "We can't afford to fly to Newport regularly,"

"Bu-"

"AND…your last visit was a little weird. And I think that no one forgot that."

Ryan's last visit. The words hung in the air like a stale smell.

He was coming to Zeppelin and Halle's first birthday. April 24th. He announced to them the month before and Seth and Summer spent a crazy, whirlwind month trying to get everything perfect. They re-painted the inside of their house themselves, cleaned everything in sight, fussed over making Manhattan look adorable and perfect, Seth even polished his bike. They weren't entirely sure why they were trying so hard to impress Ryan, just that they were. It was almost like they were acting like Ryan was going to go back to Newport and tell everyone "what a _dump_ Seth and Summer lived in now."

"We shouldn't care what Newport people think," Summer muttered to Seth one hour before Ryan arrived.

Ryan's rented car pulled outside their house. This was back when Ryan's business was only three years old and money was just starting to trickle in. The car was Toyota and at the sight of it, Seth started to feel sick.

"I don't feel well," he told Summer urgently.

"You're just nervous," she snapped at him, panicky Summer in full, cranky mode.

Two-year old, nearly three Manhattan laughed from Summer's hip.

"Daddy nervous," she repeated.

They watched Ryan from behind the curtains walk slowly to their front door. With each impending step that Ryan took, Seth felt sicker. Summer looked pale herself.

"Nervous, I'm just nervous," he repeated to himself over and over again.

A knock could be heard from the front door. Summer swung it open.

"Ryan!" she smiled and stepped to let him in.

Then Seth threw up all over the hardwood floors.

Ryan's visit didn't get much better than that. Seth had a stomach virus for the first four days he was here so Ryan was stuck with Summer and three toddlers. The original plan was for Seth to show Ryan around. Ryan had visited before of course, but he had only ever stayed a few days. This time he was staying for three loooooonnnnnnngggggggggg weeks.

When Seth recovered, he relived Ryan from four days of hanging with babies and women and took him for a patented Cohen tour of New York.

"There's where I met Summer again," he pointed by the swings in Central Park.

He showed him the old apartment building that they used to live, took him to his work, then to Summer's, introduced him to all his neighbours and had fun with him on Wednesday night, better known as curry night, which Ryan, despite his years of living in Newport, had barely ever had.

For the first week, it was going swimmingly.

It was the second week that things began to fall apart. Ryan met some of their East Coast friends one night: Pascale, Billie, Michael from his work and Sara from Summer's.

They were typically East Coast and typically New York. Pascale went straight for Ryan at first sighting, her long straight hair free flowing and her dark eyes on a mission.

"Hello _Ryan_", she spoke in her sultry accent. She had the ability to sound "sexy" in anything she said. "I have heard not much of you. Tell me your life story."

She clutched, as always, a Diet Coke and Vodka and Ryan looked uncomfortable.

Seth rescued him from Pascale's grip and introduced him to Billie, back then a thirteen year old who still screamed _trouble_.

"This is Billie…Zeppelin's sister," he offered.

Billie had just discovered eyeliner and alcohol. She stared at the beer in Ryan's hand.

"Can I have some?" she whispered, trying to imitate Pascale's voice.

Michael from Seth's work was a Rhode Island escapee, with dark hair spiked in the middle and had a wide variety of black clothing and vintage rock tee-shirts. He and Seth shared the common agreement that the Shins, did indeed rock and Michael, being the music reviewer at the paper, tried to put it into print at least every second issue. Seth was incredibly, secretly jealous of Michael's job and had been plotting since arrival of getting it.

Ryan didn't like Michael. His smarmy and confident attitude that Seth and Summer were used to irked Ryan and reminded him of Oliver.

"It's only an act," Seth told Ryan over beers. "He's actually a very sweet guy. I call him Vince Vaughn 'cas he acts all knowing and fast-talking but he's actually a good guy."

But Ryan still didn't like him.

Sara was quiet, pretty and adored Summer. Summer adored her back. After years of being Marissa's friend, Sara was nice change and they treated each other like royalty. Michael had fallen in love with her from first sight and drunkenly made it clear to Ryan.

"You…you bloody, you…_Newport__ guy_," Michael spluttered, "You stay _away_ from Sara."

Ryan made a point of talking loudly with Sara and kept flashing looks at Michael.

The night was wasted away with Michael hijacking the CD player and playing Bonnie Prince Billy repeatedly, and glaring at Ryan. Billie had been put to bed hours ago but she kept getting up and sneaking half empty drinks off the table. Pascale kept sauntering over to Ryan and half-pushing Sara away. Summer laid asleep on the couch.

"Okay, maybe it's home time," Seth said loudly.

The crowd eventually left, Michael stumbling out the door after Sara.

Ryan laughed as soon everyone was gone. "God, what a crowd."

Summer sat up accusingly. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You guys are just hanging around some different people now." Ryan laughed again, this time quite long. "_Really_ different."

The fight that followed was something that had been building up for years. Summer accused Ryan of judging their life, of everyone back in Newport judging their life. Ryan said that frankly no one really thought it but, yes, Seth and Summer had _changed_.

They both accused each other of changing for the worse, Summer calling Ryan a typical Newport guy and Ryan calling Summer an poser, saying that the _old_ Summer would've hated the life she had now, that Summer was just pretending that she did.

Ryan couldn't accept the changes that had slowly molded Seth and Summer's life. Summer hated that Ryan couldn't accept it. Seth sat in the midst of the it and half-wished that Ryan would _just leave_.

Fast-forward six years and here they were, sitting uncomfortably in silence while they remembered the fight.

"I didn't mean the stuff I said," Ryan offered.

"Yes you did," Summer said bluntly. "But so did I."

The last hours of the night was spent with his wife in his bed, tangled between sheets and breathing softly.

"I'm going to try harder," he echoed his advice to Zeppelin.

She kissed him. "Sulk as long as you want.


End file.
